


Penance

by MSpataro210



Series: Season 11 Inspired [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, angsty, continuing on from 11x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's always been the one to take the weight off others' shoulders, letting himself suffer for what he thinks he deserves.  But can someone convince he doesn't always have to walk this path alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> 11x03 was such a great episode and a great inspiration. I hope you enjoy! Also, I own nothing.

Penance

            Dean stands at the table, motionless save for his hands running over the coarse material of the grey blanket. Hypnotized by the rough fabric moving across his calloused hands, he doesn’t hear the footsteps that approach him.

            “Does it really take that long to fold a blanket?”

            Dean turns, startled out of his thoughts by the person who wore this blanket not so long ago.

            Thirty minutes before, Dean had remembered he left the blanket out in the study, and decided to return it to where it once was.  It didn’t seem like a difficult job, but his return wasn’t as swift as Sam and Castiel would have liked.  Sam was going to go find him, but Castiel was able to convince the younger Winchester to go and get some rest, and that he will find where Dean went.

            “Sorry,” Dean says, turning back to the pile of rumpled fabric, “I was thinking.”

            The air that hangs between them is filled with the thoughts Dean isn’t willing to tell Castiel, but he’s fine with that.  He knows that if Dean would want to tell him, he’ll do it when the time is right.

            Castiel moves forward joining Dean at the table.  Dean has rested one hand on the fabric, paused, considering what Castiel is going to do next.

            He places his own hand on the cover, picking up where Dean left off.

            “This probably has a lot of history to it,” Castiel remarks, “shared between men who trusted each other with their lives… their camaraderie… feelings… all worn into this fabric. Each stich a single moment between friends.”

            Castiel knows he’s reading more into this blanket than there is.  But the story he weaved for such a dull artifact was meant for something else, someone else.

            Dean snorts. Castiel turns to regard him. His hand has continued along the fabric while Castiel’s has stilled.

            From the angle, Dean is bathed in an light that Castiel knows is artificial but, in this moment, feels ethereal.  It changes the landscape of his face, giving Castiel new wrinkles to follow, new freckles to find. It’s breathtaking.

            Dean pauses, hand close to Castiel’s, before he steals a glance in the direction of his friend. He twitches slightly at the corner of his mouth, only for it to fall flat when he bites down on a groan.

            “Why don’t you let me heal you?” Castiel asks.

            “I told ya, Cas,” Dean turns away again, “I’m fine.”

            “You obviously aren’t Dean,” Castiel continues, “you’re face is in pain.  Because of me.”

            “And the reason it’s your fault is because it’s my fault,” Dean says, voice hard with steely determination.

            Castiel persists: “But I still hurt you.”

            “And I hurt you!” Dean bursts, voice loud in the silence of the moment.  He’s turned back to Castiel, and he can see what he’s talking about, what he’s remembering, replaying in his eyes.

            Castiel goes to say something, but soon descends into a fit of giggles.  The self-loathing in Dean’s eyes grows a little bit, with a twinge of curiosity playing within.

            “I’m sorry,” Castiel says, “but it’s just… we’re always hurting one another, aren’t we?”

            Dean thinks back, and can see what Castiel is talking about.  Whether with words or fists, each man has given the other too many bruising blows that the fact they’re still speaking is a miracle itself.

            He’s so caught up in his thoughts, he almost misses the hand gravitating towards his face.

            “Cas-“

            “I’m not going to heal you,” Castiel responds, cutting through Dean’s martyr act, “but I would like to just… feel it.  Please?”

            They stand there for seconds, eternities to the two men, before Dean gives a slight nod, giving Castiel the green light to move forward.

            It’s warm. Tingly.

            Castiel’s hand on Dean’s cheek just rests there, like with the blanket, as he takes it all in: finds the story in each cell.  Dean’s eyes flutter a tad, and soon enough Castiel’s hand slides across the plane of his face.

            It should hurt, but the way Castiel caresses each cut and raised skin has Dean leaning into the touch instead of away.

            Time is liquid around them, neither knowing for how long Castiel just stands there while Dean pets him. At some point Dean closes his eyes, trusting Castiel with the cross he forced himself to carry.

            Castiel takes in how human Dean is in this moment, and how saintly.  He doesn’t have to deal with this pain, but he does. Because of him. For him.

            Each discolored area Castiel’s fault, and once again Dean will live with the pain.

            Castiel stops when his thumb is barely brushing the lashes on Dean’s eye.

            Dean re-opens his eyes, and Castiel holds his breath at how pained the green looks: that even though he is free from the Darkness, the dark that was already inside him from before, that could never be released by a simple ritual, still fester insides.

            Dean opens his mouth to say something, but it’s only silence.  Like any words that his damned mouth could conjure were too impure for this holy moment.

            He’s transfixed in the reverent glow of Castiel’s eyes.  Looking at him like he hung the sun, moon, and the stars when really he’s almost destroyed them all at every turn.  Almost destroyed _him_.

            Finally, something is able to make its way out of Dean’s mouth.

            “Don’t,” he croaks out the whisper, head finally moving away from his touch.  He feels the chill already.

            “Don’t what?” Castiel implores, head cocked to the side.

            “Please,” Dean implores, “Don’t look at me like that.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like there’s something in me still worth something.  That _I’m_ worth something.”

            His eyes are full of tears that won’t be shed, voice drowning in self-loathing.  He’s gripped the blanket in a death-grip that, if it were any lesser material, it would have ripped by now.

            “Dean,” Castiel starts, “why must you speak about yourself like this.”

            Dean lets out a dark chuckle. “Spent so many years lying to other people, it feels nice to tell the truth-“

            “You’re wrong,” Castiel cuts him off, startling Dean with the ferocity in his voice, “What you’re telling is a lie you’ve spent so long believing, you can’t see the real truth.”

            “Cas, you’re fighting an uphill battle-“

            “One I will continue to fight until you can see yourself as those who care for you do!”

            Dean can only bask in the intensity of Castiel’s unshakeable stance on the matter.  His unbreakable faith… in him. 

            “How can you say that when everything that has ever happened to you is because of me?” Dean asks, “I’m the reason you’re no longer allowed in Heaven.  That you’re on the run from the very people you’ve considered family from day one!”

            “Dean,” Castiel starts, voice growling out his name, “my decisions are my own. The ‘family’ you talk about has never been the family I have now learned I needed.  There was no love, no happiness – just following orders and doing your best to serve a God who wasn’t even there anymore. You and Sam… and so many others… have taught me there is more to life than just that and-“

            He stops, a memory replaying in his head of a conversation not long ago.

            “Cas?” Dean implores, “You okay?”

            “And I’m no longer an angel…” he says, having now seen the light.

            “Uh, Cas, I’m pretty sure you are,” Dean says, hand moving from his side to Castiel’s shoulder.

            “No, I haven’t been an angel for a long time Dean,” he says, looking straight into Dean’s soul through his eyes, “ever since I chose humanity.  Since I chose you.”

            “Sorry you have to live with that,” he says, starting to remove his hand, only for it to be snatched by Castiel’s.

            “If only you could see yourself as I see you, Dean…” Castiel says, voice small, but big with promise.

            “How do you see me, Cas?” Dean asks, scared of whatever the other might say: good or bad.

            “You have been one of the most beautiful people I have ever met,” Castiel says, “and no matter what happens to you, what you may think, I have never seen a soul shine as brightly as yours.  You are _good_ , Dean Winchester.”

            Dean thinks it might be raining, even though it’s completely impossible since they’re indoors. But Dean accepts that reality over the other, which is _actually_ happening.

            He’s overwhelmed: no other way to describe it.  Castiel looks at Dean with wide eyes, shocked to have gotten that kind of reaction out of him.

            “Cas…” he whispers, voice thick and rough with emotions pushed down so hard for so long they’re bursting at the seams.  He can’t think. He can’t speak. All he can do is act.

            ‘ _Huh, I always thought they’d be rougher,_ ’

            The world may be moving, but to Dean and Castiel time has stopped right there, and they wouldn’t care if it ever started back up again.

            There are no sparks, no fireworks.  Just a tingling warmth spreading from his mouth to his toes.

            “Cas? Dean?  Is that blanket away yet-oh!”

            They pull apart, Castiel turning towards Sam who’s gaping at the door, while Dean turns back to the blanket.  One hands rubs across his face while the other gathers the blanket.

            “Just-just wrapping up some loose ends, Sammy,” he says, head bowed and scurrying out of the room, “go to –go get some sleep.”  He pushes the taller brother out of his way, leaving the two other men in his dust.

            Sam turns from his brother to Castiel: “What- ah, what just happened here?”

            Castiel smiles out the door, looking beyond Sam: “I think… Dean is starting to forgive himself.”

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy it? Leave a comment or a kudos if you did!


End file.
